


Many Miles to Go

by kuehmist



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Drinking Songs, F/M, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Kind of AU?, Maccadam's old Oil house, Not Canon Compliant, Optimus Prime - Freeform, Pre-War Society, Sad Robots, Ultra Magnus - Freeform, Ultra Magnus is dating a Princess, drunk robots, giant alien robot misses his girlfriend so he gets drunk and looks at pictures of her, high-grade, sorta - Freeform, transformers:prime - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuehmist/pseuds/kuehmist
Summary: I wrote this on a whim after listening to Peter Hollens' "Hobbit Drinking Medley". I wanted Magnus to be drunk and alone and sad so here we are.The drinking song is not mine, all the credit goes to J.R.R. Tolkien.





	Many Miles to Go

Ultra Magnus’ office was dark, save for the glowing green datapad that lit his upper body. In his one servo, he swirled a cube of high grade, Wheeljack’s hardest blend, to be exact. The pad was propped up on a stack of other pads, his reports and books of protocol. The pad he was examining was his old photo album, the one he kept hidden in his subspace. Every picture was of a beautiful femme with a light blue and white paint job, wearing a gold circlet around her head in some pictures, tiaras in others, always wearing some sort of dress. Some of the pictures were staged, with the femme smiling into the lens and shaking someone’s servo, or official photographs of her standing at Optimus' side with her infant son in her arms. Some were taken by an amateur photographer, shots of her reading a pad in a library, sipping on a cube, laughing, playing with the little Cyber-puppy she loved so much.

  
Ultra Magnus stopped scrolling. The picture he’d stopped on was taken in a bar, Maccadam’s if he remembered correctly. Dressed more like a common medic than a ruler, his love sat across from him in a booth, with Optimus on her left, and several cubes littered the table. Jazz and Prowl sat with him, and poor Bumblebee, sill much too young to get truly overcharged, was squashed in the middle, holding a bottle of high-grade flavored energon. She had a drunken glow to her cheeks, and she was laughing, they all were, at something the Prime had said.

  
He smiled fondly at the memory. The war was raging outside, but Maccadam’s was their haven, where the war didn’t exist. Everyone was an equal the moment they walked in the door. His love wasn’t the Princess of Cybertron in there. She was a femme who could hold her high grade better than over half the mechs in the room. A femme who swore worse than a Wrecker, but could calm a sparkling to sleep in thirteen and a half klicks. A femme who scared him to the Pit when she was angry, but made him the happiest mech in the universe when she smiled. A femme with a medical degree and thousands of successful surgeries on her record. Here, she didn't have to sit up straight, she didn't have to be escorted across the room, she didn't have to watch her tongue. She didn't have to smile politely, or laugh gently. She could sit in his lap and the media wouldn't call her a pleasure-bot. She didn't have to appear to be a neutral party. She could curse Megatron to the pit and back. She could yell and scream and throw darts at his face. He could wrap his arms around her waist and press his face into the sensitive cables in her neck. They could kiss and hold hands without fear. No rules or protocols held them back. She wasn't Princess Aurelia, Optimus Prime's elected equal. Here, she was Aura, a medic from the Upper areas of Iacon. She was just as he liked her. Herself.

  


Ultra Magnus took a gulp of his high grade. When he set the cube down, he rubbed his optics. Primus, he missed her. He hadn’t seen her since the Exodus, since he had pulled her away from the blaster fire and the grenades long enough to kiss her one last time. She was sent as far away from the fighting as they could get her. He couldn’t remember which galaxy. Perhaps he never knew in the first place. It was probably part of the plan to her safe, until the war was over, until they won and they could go home.

  


He poured more high grade into his cube, and downed the entire thing in a single go. Slightly slurred, he began to sing softly, slowly.

  
“Hey, ho, to the bottle I go, to heal my spark and drown my woes. Rain may fall and wind may blow, but there still be many miles to go.”


End file.
